The Unholy Trinity
by OooodlesOfNooodles
Summary: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. A forgotten God, a bastard child, and a note book. The dawn of a new world begins to rise once again. [Set post-canon]


**A/N:** The idea of 'The Unholy Trinity' came from the notion of Light as a Shinigami (or presumed to be Light) in the OVA, and the question: what would happen when he dropped his death note in the human world? Who would pick it up and what would they do with it? The story was born from that while cramming for my biochemistry exam yesterday haha

This is my *counts fingers* fifth fanfic. Boy, times flies. The story is set 17-ish years after the ending of the manga and will contain slightly dark and mature themes. The main characters are Light, Near, and an OC. Thank you for reading and please enjoy.

* * *

_I._

_Reject every kind of evil._

_(1 Thessalonians 5:22) _

* * *

_What are Shinigami, beings of death and darkness, composed of rotten flesh and bare bones? What are Gods of death other than creatures that used to walk among the earth and bore blood in their veins? Fallen angels of the night that wallow and cry and scorn and steal from the living hiding in their realm of desolate wastelands. What are those winged creatures that have nowhere to fly? What are these Gods of Death whom do not have thrones to sit upon nor crowds to worship them as Gods are supposed to be worshipped? _

_Light did not have a throne to sit upon. He had no one who worshipped him. Nor a name that was revered nor glorified. He was a forgotten God. The worst kind. His black wings could not ascend him to greater heights, but the chains buckled against his long and winding limbs pulled him towards the barren ground. Burdening him._

_There was nowhere to go in the Shinigami Realm. Nowhere to fly either. There was only down. Light stared into the portal that connected his realm and the human one. He watched screeching souls of the departed rush into the wastelands. It was the closest thing to a breeze of the wind here. The white entrails of a soul gust against his body and the soul dissipated into thin air then reformed behind him. The thing screamed as it vanished further into the unknown in front of it. The unknown of its eternity. _

_This realm was rotten. Festering. _

_Light stepped further towards the edge, towards the whirlpool of souls that cradled at his feet. Towards the human realm. He did not lift his wings, but only his feet. And did as fallen angels were supposed to. _

_He fell._

* * *

I was told that I wouldn't live past the age of three. I wish I hadn't.

A miracle, my doctors and nurses called it. A curse, I reminded myself. If I were dead maybe, then my papa would visit me. Albeit in my grave, but that was still better than nothing. It may be the only time he would stand by me—think of me. Shed a tear for me. Yet, every day I wait for him to enter my hospital room. Foolishly clinging to hope that I know will forever be unfilled. But I am a child, and hoping was supposed to be a child's strong suit, our relentlessly uplifting virtue to never waver off the path of light, no matter how annoying it could be to some. Hoping is what's makes a child—a child. Always seeing the light at the end of the dark tunnel, no matter how much darkness swallows me up and anchors me in its rotting abyss. I patiently wait for the day, the glorious day, when he will reach out his arms and embrace me in them. I keep waiting for that day to happen. It hasn't.

My room is laden with toys of various kinds—dinosaurs and cars and puzzle games—whatever toys boys are supposed to like. Toys my papa thinks I would like. Most are opened from their plastic packages, tape ripped from the corners and carboard ripped at the seams. I played with most of them—but not for long. Long enough to make it seem like I was thankful and overjoyed with these gifts from my papa. To let him know that they made me _happy_. But toys and presents wrapped in shimmering paper and topped with ribbons did not make up for what I truly, truly wanted. They did not make up for his lack of presence. It didn't matter how many gifts he bought me or a new stuffed animal he gives me on the day of a dreaded operation; none would fill the empty space in my heart. Although, I must admit my papa is more thoughtful in gift giving than I originally thought. He could have been careless to gift me a bike when I obviously can't walk. Or any outdoor toy that requires any force below the waist. My papa wasn't entirely neglectful—he knows that I am bound to my wheelchair. At least. A pogo stick would feel like a slap in the face. Cruel even. He hasn't given me one. Yet.

Where is my mother? You may be wondering? No, she doesn't visit me often or gives more toys than I know what to do with like my papa. I…never had the pleasure to meet her. Not even once. She passed away when I was born, but she loved me very much… or that is what they tell me…But I don't think about her much, as selfish as it sounds. How can I love a person I have never met before? But papa…he was here. Living and breathing and bound to hold me. I just have to be patient and wait.

But patience wears thin.

The door creaks open and I straighten my back in a split second. Hoping it's my papa, I flip open the book to the page I dogeared and continued reading looking as if I was enthralled in the black letters etched onto the page. I want him to know how much reading I've been doing. How smart I am. Just like he is. I love to learn. I love to read. I want him to know that—and say something to me about it. Congratulate me. Tell me face to face instead of hiding behind a computer screen offering his praise all under a single breath. Of all the things my papa has given me that I have truly enjoyed was books. Books full of knowledge, secrets the human mind has dared to unravel, the pursuit of the unknown, the journey of those who came before me, their findings laid in my bare hands and all I had to do to learn their secrets was flip the very last page I dogeared. I continued where I left off, silently reading of the first woman erased from the bible, '_Lilith, made from the same blood and flesh as Adam, disobeyed God and was cast out from the Garden of Eden to wander aimlessly in the bitter cold wastelands. She, who believed was equal to Adam and neither subservient to him, found comfort in the arms of the fallen angel Morningstar. He made her his equal in the flaming pits of Gehenna, where she would bow down nor serve no man. There in Gehenna, Lilith was free; while Adam was given a new bride of the name of Eve who was born from his rib.' _

The heels of their shoes clicked against the tile floor. Soon my eyelids drooped down. Disappointed. That wasn't my papa. My papa doesn't wear shoes, and if he does, it's only muffled sneakers that silence his steps. Not black loafers with wooden soles.

It was Anthony Rester, Commander Rester, or as I like to call him by a name he doesn't dare tell me he doesn't like, Commander Bumble Bee. I will never let him live down the moment a bumble bee flew in through the window and made a direct bee line towards his blonde and silver haired head. Whoever said men can't scream high notes was definitely wrong. I remember laughing through the entire day, and Anthony suppressing the urge to stuff his tie down my throat. My papa may not visit me often, but he has his henchmen (what I call them) visit me instead. These goons of my father are the ones who bring me all these gifts and give their condolences on my condition on my father's behalf. Sometimes it makes me sick, but I could use the company. I liked to read, but not as much as I liked to torment Commander Bumble Bee on these forced visits he has to make.

Anthony stopped a few feet away from my bed, surveying the grounds for any traps I've laid just for him. He was holding another present, a small shimmering bag overflowing with pastel pink tissue paper. I frowned. The package looked light. Was papa being cheap with me now?

"Azrael." Antony grumbled my name like he was swallowing gravel. Staring down at me, narrowing his eyes.

"Commander Bubble Bee. I am glad you can join me this afternoon." I gave him a thumbs up. "Don't worry, I had my nurse check the windows for any unsuspecting bees."

It looked as if Anthony grumbled a curse in his mind, which made me smile. Anthony probably would have liked me more if I hadn't put Legos beneath the cushion of his seat or sent his ex-fiancé and distant family members cryptic text messages from his phone when he wasn't looking. Some replied, very concerned messages, back quickly. While other's relayed their whole life stories to me, like his aunt Petunia who was a very, very lonely woman. I told bumble bee that he needs to visit her more often and he told me not to stick my nose in other people's lives or their phones. My eyes darted towards the present. Anthony kicked a stack of Legos with the side of his foot as he pulled out a chair. I grabbed the bag before he could even sit down.

"Who's the gift for?" I ask, already pulling the tissue paper out of the bag and sending it fluttering towards the ground.

"N sends his regards. Happy 12th birthday." That was all Anthony said. There was no joy in his voice. He was simply repeating a message. One I wished papa would say to me himself. My papa, N, a world class detective shrouded in mystery from the rest of the world. He was the one that defeated Kira, a psychopath killer, seventeen years ago. That's why I could never hate my papa, constantly solving the toughest cases the world threw at him. He was a hero…and I'm sure the world has a higher priority than I do, so I couldn't blame him for not visiting me. He was busy, and I could wait no matter how much it ached.

"He does, does he. I'm surprised he even remembered my birthday." I reached inside the bag and pulled out a book. My breath caught in my lungs. It was a book about dark energy and black holes in space. It may not seem like a big deal, a book about all the things in the universe we can't see from down on earth, a world hidden by the blue blanket of the sky—but when my papa and I last talked (him behind that computer screen of his) I talked about space. I didn't particularly gravitate towards the subject, regardless I wanted to tell him all what I learned with a passion—and he praised me. My heart burst with joy, then and now. I ran my hand over the cover—over the stars against the midnight sky. He remembered our last conversation together. He remembered.

He remembered me.

The television roared, sound blaring. I forgot it was even on. On the screen an anchor woman conveyed the news that, yet another murder happened again in New York City. A spree of murders actaully known as the _Big Apple Murders_, and that N was on the case. It didn't come as a surprise to me, "Papa is going to find them. He always does."

For once, Anthony didn't grumble my name, he simply nodded. "Yes. He always does."

I smiled, staring down at my book. The knuckles of my fingers turned white as I gripped the book. I dared to ask, despite already knowing the answer. "When will papa let me leave the hospital with him?" I asked under my breath.

Anthony sighed. "Azrael, it's better that you stay here so you can be monitored from a close range. Where your nurses and doctors can give you immediate treatment. Your condition is far too serious—"

I spoke louder, my voice cracked. "I want to live with papa. Papa—N—has the means to take care of me where he is, right? So why won't he let that happen?" My voice softened. Weak. "I've gotten stronger."

Anthony looked over me. Seeing my frail bones and limbs. Seeing past my lie. He was the closest person to my father—that should have been me.

Anthony cleared his throat. "I'll take to N. He has been reconsidering for some time."

I lift my head up. "Really? He really considered it?" The blanket shifted where I moved, my legs numb and weak and scrawny. If it weren't for my legs, I could practically jump out of bed upon hearing those words.

That was the first smile I saw on Anthony's face that day. A sad one. Behind those sterling blue eyes, what truth did his mind carry that I didn't? That I was unaware of. Regardless, to be free from this prison and reunite with papa—a dream. It was everything I have been waiting for.

* * *

Personally, I think the favorite part of Anthony's visits was saying goodbye to me. Although, I truly lamented over his departure. Who else am I supposed to torture while Anthony is away? God, when the man leaves it looks as if he has bene freed from whatever imprisonment he was stationed to.

I turn my gaze towards the nurse accompanying me on the roof top of the hospital, wrinkling my nose. "Marinette. Am I unpleasant to be around?"

"You're a horror. A terror. I'll be glad to be rid of you when you leave this place." Marinette said as she wheeled me across the walkway and towards a picnic table.

I laughed. "Thank you. You're always so honest. Will you miss me when I'm gone?"

"I'll be partying on the rooftop."

"And so will my doctors, I presume?"

"They'll be partying the hardest. Dancing on the tables."

"I see. Well, so much for sentimentality. Pardon me if I will miss some of you from the bottom of my heart when I leave this place. Don't expect a post card from me."

Marinette's smile softened as she patted my shoulder. "You'll have so much fun with your father when you leave that you'll forget all about the hospital and won't even have time to be sad for all of us nurses and doctors. You'll be the one dancing on the tables." Marinette quickly stopped talking as she uttered those last words.

"It's alright. You'll find me rolling down the hallways giving the middle finger, yelling _I'm free bitches—"_

Marinette burst out laughing. She pushed my wheelchair under the shade of a tree. My body was covered with fragments of sunlight that peeked through the crevices of the leaves. The roof top was embellished for patients to spend time outside without leaving the hospital grounds. It goes without saying that the hospital was all I knew, and the roof was my only outlet to the outside world. The breeze wafted against my white hair, strands of snow fluttered against my cheeks and forehead. I carried the book papa gave to me on my lap. I would be doing my reading out here today.

Marinette's phone began to ring—a personal call she said—and left me to my own devices as she left to take it. I was the only one on the rooftop today and even though it was quiet—It was nice. I opened the first page of the book and began devouring the words. I could hear Marinette's voice rise, in anger. Whether she was talking to her boyfriend—or ex-boyfriend—wasn't my business. Like Anthony said, I need to keep my nose out of people's live and their phones. I wheeled myself towards the fountain and let the sound of the dripping water envelope me as I continued to read.

I lifted my eyes from the book and into the fountain. I watched the water ripple with every drop that fell into it, I saw the coins that paid at the bottom of the fountain. All those wishes left heard or unanswered. I wasn't superstitious, but when I saw a penny that on the edge of the fountain, I couldn't help but clasp it in my hands, breath in a wish, and toss it into the fountain.

Papa was really considering taking me home with him this time. I hoped and hoped and hoped he would follow through on this promise. I hoped a new world would open up for me—for the both of us. I watched the penny sink to the bottom of the fountain. Watched the copper metal shift and change under the body of water.

I narrowed my eyes into the water's reflection. There was a black dot that kept on growing—it was a reflection! But of what?

I quickly turned my head towards the sky and saw the black dot crash against a trashcan, tumbling it onto it's side. I wheeled over to the mess, wondering if what I saw was a fragment of a black hole, or a bird that lost its flight in the sky. I titled my head and hesitantly picked up the black bound notebook. Confused as to how a notebook, of all things, could fall out of nowhere from the sky. I looked up and only saw clouds, no plane or helicopter in sight.

I flipped the book over and the words on the cover sent a chill down my spine. I knew these words, everything they meant, and the destruction it entailed. _Death Note._

If I knew anything at all, it was that the Shinigami—the God of death—who owned the note book would soon follow. I looked up towards the sky. Cloudy. In-between the gray mists of the clouds I searched for those black wings of death. Wings that belonged to fallen angels and false gods. I was only met with a gust of wind, bitter and cold, as the wind flipped open the book against my wishes and the first rule was there in ink for me to read. _The human whose name is written in this note shall die._ I slammed the book shut as the wind began to roar. Rattling and uplifting the tables and chairs upon on the roof with its mighty strength. Marinette came to take me back inside as I hid the notebook in-between the pages of the book papa gave me. Still, I searched the skies and waited to see those black wings that carried death. I hoped death would not follow, but I was never good at hoping.

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**A/N: **Thank you so much for reading the first chapter of 'The Unholy Trinity,' you're awesome! I haven't written in first person in a long while, but I'm hoping to give it a try again XD Azrael, the son of Near, is the MC of the fic, and I know the thought of Near with a kid sounds weird (I guess?) but there is a reason to that which is relevant to the short summary and not just bc I just like writing the next gen of characters LOL I intend for this to be a short multi-chapter fic, and feedback is 100 percent encouraged. Pls let me know what you thought and I hoped you guys enjoyed reading this chapter!


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